


Decoy

by petroltogo



Series: The Straw Man 'Verse [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: 006 Alec Trevelyan, 007 James Bond, Aaron is back, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Q, Betrayal, Double-0-Typical Casual Character Death, Double-0-Typical Violence, Hacker Q, Hurt/Comfort, Lies and Deceit, Loyalties Are A Tricky Thing, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Multi, Possessive Alec, Possessive James, Possessive Q, Protective Alec, Protective Q, Q's backstory, Sibling Relationships Are Complicated, Some Actual Relationship Fluff (I Honestly Have No Idea How I Managed That With These Three), Spectre AU, This Verse's Take On Spectre, everyone's a mess, feelings are complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 08:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petroltogo/pseuds/petroltogo
Summary: "At the end of the day, an oath of absolute fealty cannot be given to more than one person."In the world of shadows and lies, there is only one way of dealing with traitors. Permanently. Preferably by sending a bloodthirsty Double-0 agent after them. But in this particular case, even Britain’s most dangerous wildcards may not be able to contain the situation in time. For the mole has not been working alone — and in the aftermath of their disappearance, not even James Bond’s loyalty to the Crown remains certain.As old enemies resurface and new battle lines are drawn, MI6 faces its greatest challenge yet in Spectre, a criminal organization that has been growing in the shadows for years. Lead by an all-too familiar face: Q, MI6’s former quartermaster.(Meanwhile, halfway across the world, Alec Trevelyan, who has spent the last eight months in deep cover, receives a curious message from his lover.)





	Decoy

**Author's Note:**

> I told you at the end of Scarecrow that I had no plans of writing a sequel and, like JKR, I lied. For that I apologize. I've spent a long time agonizing over whether I really want to post this fic or not, but the truth is there were a couple of things I hinted at in Scarecrow that were never resolved because it wouldn't have fit into the story then. But I still wanted to address them, so here we are.
> 
> This fic was born out of three questions/thoughts that wouldn't leave me alone:  
> 1) How would the events of "Spectre" play out in this universe?  
> 2) " _There are many things between the three of them that they don’t acknowledge, and their ties of loyalty are one of them. Too many broken hearts lie in a promise of unfailing faithfulness that, at the end of the day, can not be given to more than one person._ " Scarecrow, Chapter 3. Where do their loyalties lie if push comes to shove?  
> 3) The one most of you asked me in the comments: WHAT HAPPENS NOW THAT A IS BACK?
> 
> And well, here we are now. This is my attempt to answer those questions, hopefully give James and Alec as characters a little more depth and add a better insight into their relationship with Q (and each other) while I am at it. Not sure if I can pull of the same, nicely-woven story I did with Scarecrow - and I don't want to pressure myself by living up to that standard - so you may regard this as more of an "add on", a deeper look into this AU I've created. And hey, maybe I can still manage to surprise you a time or two. We'll see.
> 
> [Full disclosure, I got some valuable feedback on this chapter - thanks again, for your help! - and proceeded to ignore a lot of it. I tried, I really did, but certain parts just didn't want to be written any other way, so. I'm just gonna hope for the best and assume my James is the kind who is prone to internal monologues *shrug*]
> 
> In any case, have fun reading! (AND PLEASE ONLY DO SO IF YOU HAVE ALREADY READ SCARECROW OTHERWISE THIS WILL NOT MAKE SENSE!!)  
>  
> 
> Chapter Summary: In which there is a traitor in MI6, the Quartermaster has disappeared, the past never fully relinquishes its hold on the present, and James Bond knows exactly what is asked of him until he doesn’t.

**Ω** **:** need a favor

 **sIllysAllyXO:** k

 **sIllysAllyXO:** u know my fee

 **Ω** : already sent

 **sIllysAllyXO:** whatcha need?

 **Ω:** make me disappear

 

> _Nothing is ever certain._
> 
> _—_ Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones

 

_She stands with his back to him. Dressed in simple jeans and an oversized sweatshirt that James knows for a fact he has never seen her wear. But the thought dissipates before the full weight of its conclusion can unfold in his consciousness when he reaches her sight._

_James hadn’t even realized that he was approaching her._

_She doesn’t turn around. Something that doesn’t surprise James. He has never been able to fully captivate her, not in the way she yearned for, at least. Or the way he yearned for. It’s hard to tell, sometimes. To make sense of it now, the tragic story that has already been told more often than he cares to remember, yet never the same version twice._

_Her hair is wet, plastered against the side of her face, soaking the soft, washed-out fabric of her pullover. It would feel warm and welcoming against his skin, James knows, like coming home._

_Vesper was never home. She was affection and even love, for a time. An adventure and a dream and an absolution. But she wasn’t home. Maybe— If things had been different, there is no telling what she might have become._

_But she chose another road, another end, and for all that James respects her dedication, forgiveness is a luxury he has run out of many years ago._

_Perhaps Vesper senses this. Feels the animosity, the tension James hasn’t been able to shed, not fully, even after all this time. There are certain marks that withstand even the inevitability of time. Certain ghosts that may fade but never rest._

_When Vesper finally tilts her head into his direction, her usually bright eyes are flat and cold. In that moment she looks so much like Q when he gets his first look at what is left of his precious equipment that James flinches._

_He does not appreciate seeing the face of a dead lover in the man who has become so much more. It’s yet another reminder of the many things they still do not touch — will never touch, if James has anything to say about it._

_"Would you choose me?" she asks._

_The words are soft, barely audible over the cajoling wind around them, the crushing waves far beneath their feet. They should not hit James with all the weight of a physical blow. Although— there is no denying the viciousness in Vesper’s eyes. There is a foreign beauty to her even now, with her face twisted into an ugly snarl, skin pale and waxy, eyes lifeless._

_James bristles at the accusation, his fight or flight instinct so deeply molded into the 'fight' part no other reaction occurs to him. Besides it wasn’t him who refused to let go of the past, now, was it? It wasn’t he who decided to kill himself. To betray what they had so brutally, even the most precious memories had become twisted and broken. And to what end?_

_No. There may have been a death sentence in Vesper’s eyes that day, but Bond has long ago grown used to carrying the added burden._

_He hasn’t been under a dead woman’s thrall for a long time now._

_The problem is, when James looks up again, it’s not Vesper he’s seeing._

_"Would you choose me?" she asks again, plaintively, and—_

_James jerks awake with a violent twitch. A rare loss of composure that Trevelyan would tease him for with his special brand of callous but steadying carelessness, if he weren’t stuck in Belgium on a diplomatic mission for pissing of M. Again._

_Sparing a brief thought to the poor country that definitely won’t appreciate M’s creative punishment strategy, it takes James a beat longer than usual to notice that he is alone in bed._

_This, by itself, is not an unusual occurrence. Trevelyan and James are rarely in the same country for any length of time and Q is a workaholic that puts even Tanner to shame. Today though James can still feel the residual warmth where his quartermaster must have been lying to his left less than twenty minutes ago._

_He gets out of bed with a groan and a complete lack of his usual grace._

_Nightmares are a common feature in their line of work and James suffers his fair share of them. But there is something about Vesper that knocks him off-balance the way few things do. A weakness, even now, years after the fact—_

_("Too much heart, Bond." Trevelyan mutters into his drink._

_"Not enough soul, Trevelyan." James shoots back._

_Neither of them is wrong, but then, the hits wouldn’t count if they weren’t aimed at their ever-smarting weak spots, would they?)_

_Yes, Trevelyan will not be hearing about this._

_The living room is warm, brightly lit, and filled with the rhythmic tapping of Q’s fingers against the keyboard. He has only four tabs open, which tells James that he isn’t working on anything particularly challenging or engaging. There’s an untouched cup of Earl Grey sitting by Q’s elbow that lets him know that whatever has roused his quartermaster only hours after the bloody end of a drawn-out recon mission that cost them three agents, Q is struggling to put his mind to rest again._

_Leaning against the wall, James settles down. Content to watch Q in his element — Q running because of some unidentifiable ghost that is hunting him still._

_It says a lot about the kind of man Q is that even after all these years, James hasn’t figured out if Q is running from something or towards it. The mystery, he supposes, is part of his lover’s charm._

_It’s what makes Q not just dangerous but deadly._

_James breathes, slow and deep. Allows the lingering tension in his neck to dissipate. Watches Q in his element, at peace with the rare opportunity to observe the quartermaster like this, turn their positions around for just a little while._

_'Would you choose me?'_

_James ignores the haunting echo in his mind with the ease born of year-long practice. But. The words linger. Wispy tendrils stretched out at the very edge of his consciousness._

_And, not for the first time, James wonders._

*

**James first realizes that something is very wrong when he sees Eve Moneypenny wait for him at the Heathrow Airport.**

She’s a decent enough agent and a mean shot, James has never had an issue with her. That being said, people generally don’t welcome James back in his country. Granted, his mission has been the definition of boring and he’s even arrived on time with the ticket Q-branch organized for him. As if that isn’t a rare enough occurrence on its own, he isn’t even on the verge of passing out. For all James knows, his welcome committee may be standard protocol for agents who don’t drive M mad on a regular basis. He wouldn’t know.

What James does know is that M wouldn’t jeopardize his recently improved behavior with something so petty — the woman knows all too well how James handles being patronized. The general consensus being _not at all_.

Besides even though Moneypenny does a good job of keeping her expression bland if friendly, there’s no hiding the tension in her frame to James’ practiced eyes. Seems like he won’t get that downtime Medical always insists on after all.

James smiles, warm, charming, an effortless expression, anticipation already curling under his skin. His last mission has been utterly pointless — James doesn’t think this one will be a similar disappointment.

“Eve.”

“James.” Moneypenny doesn’t return his smile. “Please, follow me.” She doesn’t wait for a response, just turns on her heels and walks in quick, purposeful strides through the thick crowd of late-afternoon arrivers.

Mentally, James upgrades the seriousness of the current problem to ‘life and death scenario’. It turns out to be a bit of an underestimation when they reach the car and Moneypenny hands him the briefing without prompting, face stony, eyes flat.

Seventeen hours ago, on the 11th of May, the Quartermaster of MI6 disappeared without a trace.

*

It would be incorrect to say James is caught completely by surprise by this turn of events. Being the Quartermaster of MI6 comes with its own risks. Violence may be the means, but their business runs on information, and that is one valuable good Q possesses in spades. There is a reason Q’s flat is the most secure between the three of them, and it’s not because he’s worried someone might steal his computer _—_ though knowing him that’s an additional concern.

They’ve talked about it before, on multiple accounts.

(“Obviously, I’d expect you to join my reign of darkness once this utter nonsense-” Q gestures wildly at the veritable mountain of paperwork in front of him, “-inevitably pushes me over the edge. Until such a time, however, we shall all have to arrange ourselves with a mediocre existence inside MI6’s walls. That being said-” he continues hastily before Trevelyan has a chance to interrupt, “-should I ever find myself in the in the less enviable position of a hostage and other options have been deemed too high a risk, I’d expect you to follow your orders as always.”

Trevelyan folds his arms in front of his chest, aggression written in the tense muscles along his jaw and upper arms. “You can’t ask us to-” he protests, low and serious, but Q doesn’t give him the chance to finish something that James will be unable to unhear.

“I’m not asking, 006,” he says, voice as chilled as the bottle of cheap vodka he’s setting down on the table in front of them. In that moment, he’s all Quartermaster, no Q, but even that isn’t enough to settle the mutinous curve of Trevelyan’s lips completely.

Hard, green eyes meet James’ own, and James nods in acceptance of Q’s demand. They both know it won’t be Trevelyan who would be sent after Q, should such a situation come to pass. For precisely this reason.

Trevelyan, who watches the exchange with a thunderous scowl, knows it too.

“If I join your reign of darkness, I expect to be made a general,” he snaps eventually with all the petulance of a pouting child. An armed, combat-trained, pouting child, granted, but that only makes the picture he presents all the more ridiculous.

Q chuckles, and the tension breaks just like that.)

Of course those words had been much easier to accept when they had referred to a hypothetical scenario. Now, being faced with the very real possibility of having lost Q forever — or even having to pull the trigger himself — James Bond, for the first time in his colorful career at MI6 finds himself praying for a mission as boring and straightforward as imaginable.

Boring is good. Boring leaves buildings standing and people alive in the aftermath.

(Boring is neither his nor Q’s style.)

*

 **It includes what missions involving traitors always do:** a death sentence.

Double-0s have a license to kill, that much everybody knows. Of course, it is understood — if rarely outright acknowledged — that killing is supposed to be an agent’s last option and is to be treated as such.

(One might struggle to believe this, were one to indulge in the utter madness that is the average Double-0 agent’s mission report — a terrifying thing, that is, considering they have a habit of leaving the more interesting bits out of it. Explosions, car chases and helicopter accidents do not scream sensible application of a last resort option to anyone of sane mind, though the exasperated PR department certainly tries its best.)

They are in the business of espionage, of _information_ , not blood, first and foremost. As such, while a certain level of destruction and international incidents is deemed an acceptable risk when involving a Double-0, it is rarely part of the mission requirements. As are direct hits.

James, who’s been working for MI6 fifteen years longer than anyone expected when he first started out, has ended his fair share of lives in the name of duty. But he can still count on both hands the number of times he was sent out into the field with a hit order from the very beginning.

 _This_ , he knows before M has even started her briefing, _will be one of those times_.

Because Trevelyan and James are careful, but Q is paranoid. When he disappeared off the face of the earth five days ago, there was never any question that foul play was involved. Q is better than good, James knows that, and so he’s drawn the same conclusion he’s read in Eve Moneypenny’s eyes that day, when she greeted him on the airport, freshly back from his latest mission.

MI6 has a traitor. A traitor that has cost them their quartermaster. And in this world, the one James lives in, there is only one way to deal with traitors.

(There is only one way to deal with people who dare to touch Q.)

*

“007,” M greets him, voice even and cool. For all intents and purposes, this could be any other mission briefing. But MI6 lost their quartermaster less than a week ago — nothing about this situation is just like any other.

For a brief moment, James considers the possibility that he isn’t here because of the mole. That he is here because MI6 has deemed a rescue mission too risky or too unlikely to succeed. It wouldn’t be the first time. Rationally, James is well-aware that Q knows too much to be allowed to remain in enemy’s hands alive for long. Still, it seems unlikely for the order to go out this soon, especially to him. His connection to Q is no secret, for all that people rarely dare to outright comment on it.

Of course, if anyone would order James Bond to kill his lover, it would be M.

Nevertheless — and despite what the office gossip likes to imply — James is a professional, and none of the thoughts racing through his mind show on his face as he slides into the seat vis-à-vis his employer.

“M. A pleasure as always.”

His tone matches M’s for nonchalance. The slight shift of her eyebrows is the only outward sign of her aggravation, but it eases something in James, in _007_ , that he can still read her just fine, few tells as there may be.

That M completely ignores his pleasant greeting, on the other hand, gives rise to an unsettling sensation in his stomach. M is an abrupt woman with no patience for word games and wasted time _—_ for all that she excels in them when it suits her to _—_ but there is a tension in her posture that has the double-0 agent in James come to attention, eyes already scanning the room for hidden threats, even as his body remains frozen in a seemingly relaxed sprawl.

“It’s the Quartermaster,” M says.

Something cold and dreadful slides over James’ neck, the phantom sensation of a rattling breath he knows damn well isn’t actually there. For a moment, he can feel Vesper’s ghost besides him, damnation in her dead eyes for yet another sin he has committed against her family. Another member he couldn’t save.

“Has the body been found?” James makes himself ask. Steady. Calm. He shouldn’t be, probably, but then, Q would scoff and mock him for his unnecessary dramatics if he were to lose his composure over an expected outcome like that.

“No.”

That single word should bring him relief, but there is nothing even remotely reassuring to be found in M’s expression. It could be carved in stone for all the joy it carries _—_ and 007 gets it, then. It takes James a few more seconds to catch on.

“It’s the Quartermaster,” M repeats as she hands him a stack of paper, the carefully enunciated vowels not managing to fully cover the burning rage beneath.

This is MI6. Enemies are a dime a dozen. But traitors— traitors are always personal.

 _Q is always careful!_ James hears himself snarl at Moneypenny. _He doesn’t have routines. He has an algorithm randomly calculate one of twelve different routes to his home every day! There is no way anyone could have just snatched him up, especially not without him sounding an alarm first!_

And.

_I’m sorry, I thought I just heard you tell me that you managed to lose the Quartermaster in the middle of one of the most surveilled cities in the world._

And.

_The good news is, the suspect pool is small. Very few people knew that we had the information in the first place, and even less of them would have been able to access it without drawing attention to themselves._

James stares down at the file in his hands. Q’s file.

 _It’s the Quartermaster_.

Of course.

*

_“You know, you would’ve made a fantastic evil overlord,” Trevelyan comments lightly after Q has spent the past fifteen minutes ranting about the unfortunate fates the people from the budgeting team deserve for once more refusing to approve the fundings for a complete internal server overhaul._

_“Don’t be ridiculous, Alec.” Q scoffs. “Dear Margaret simply brings out the best in me. Besides as much as I would appreciate owning an entire building with vents big enough for the impossible lot of you to crawl through and torment my minions, you cannot possibly think that anyone would take me seriously as a conqueror. I still get carded every time I want to buy something stronger than beer!”_

_“Being underestimated would only work in your favor,” James states evenly and throws a towel at Trevelyan’s head. “Food’s ready in a minute. If you aren’t too busy compromising our quartermaster, make yourself useful and set the table, Alec.”_

_“Oh please, if anyone corrupts Q it’s gonna be you, James.” Trevelyan throws the towel back, his aim so terrible it has to be on purpose, forcing James to leap across the kitchen to keep the damn thing from landing smack in the middle of the sauce. “And for the record,” Trevelyan continues on undisturbed, “Q, you’re the most terrifying person I know.”_

_Q grins mischievously up from where he’s still typing away on his precious laptop. “Coming from you, I take that as a compliment, Alec.”_

_James shakes his head at the ridiculousness of the both of them. There's a smile on his lips though that stubbornly refuses to fade, even as he turns his attention back towards the stove._

*

They hadn’t built their relationship on hopes for a brighter future and fairytale endings, no. Between two trained spies and one genius hacker, there had been no room for pretty lies and illusions. They were what they were, Alec Trevelyan, James Bond and the forever nameless Q. And there were secrets between them with the power to ruin everything they had created for themselves. Secrets they were aware of but did not acknowledge, for the things with the power to tear them apart were the things they could not change, and if a happy future was not to be, then at least they could drag out the present for as long as possible.

(And so maybe they held onto more hopes than they should have, not as clever after all, willfully blind when they should have known better.)

From the very beginning, the three of them had been a bomb set to explode. The invisible ticker counting down, unseen yet inevitable. That doesn’t prepare them for the explosion any more than staring at the clouds hard enough might shield you from the rain.

*

Here’s what it takes MI6 four days after the Quartermaster’s disappearance to discover: Three months after Q first starts out as a lowly tech support, he writes a small, useful but otherwise unremarkable program to automatically reroute emergency signals from a field agent to any available Q-brancher with the necessary security clearance. There are a few strands of code scattered through the program that don’t actually do anything.

 _Sloppy_ , the senior assistant sneers, but doesn’t have the time or patience to correct those details. It’s not really needed, anyways, because those strings of code don’t do anything at all. They certainly don’t compromise the network in any way. Neither do the additional lines of code in seventy-two other programs Q creates over the years. On their own, each of them is harmless. Put together and operating within the same system, on the other hand? Well. Even the best firewalls and encryption in the world are useless when you have a backdoor into the system, locked though it may be.

Four hours before the Quartermaster’s timely vanishing act, someone turns the key and pulls it open.

*

Here’s what MI6 will never know: On the 24rd of April, sixteen hours after someone successfully hacked MI6 and commandeered ever MI6-issued screen for thirty-two seconds to display a snake biting its own tail and an odd message, Q stumbles into his apartment. He has been a model-employee all day. Has been appropriately furious, frustrated and impressed by the hacker that has managed to wrangle the control of their system from him, if only for a short period of time.

Only now, away from the prying eyes of MI6 Q allows himself to do what he’s been itching to ever since he first caught sight of the _Miss me?_ — _A_ on his screen.

He opens Twitter on the phone of his non-existent neighbour and searches the tag #hideandseek. It takes a bit of scrolling, but all too soon Q finds what he’s looking for. The message is simple enough. _tag, you’re it!_ posted by birthdayboiiiiiii2, along with a shortened link that Q doesn’t hesitate to click.

*

One would expect the Quartermaster’s change of status from victim to traitor to change things.

(And it does.

R takes over Q-branch ad interim with the drive of a woman scorned, a woman with something to prove, the wrath of the gods backing her every decision as she purges their system completely — but what does it matter how often you clean the house when the building is built on a corrupt foundation? — and reevaluates her employees. But no amount of psych evals and lie detectors can extinguish the lingering doubt, now that a first seed has been planted.

For if the Quartermaster himself has been dirty from the very beginning, how come no one noticed all this time? How come no one reported him, that even spies of the calibre of 006 and 007 were fooled? What if they weren’t? Who among their own can still be trusted?

Spying is their profession, but betrayal is personal. And for it to be Q — the man who has won over his branch through hard work and undeniable competence, the man who brings agents home alive and backs their play, the man at the core of every important mission during the last four years — hits far deeper than MI6 would care to admit. Leaves them open, vulnerable, _hurting_. And double-0 agents in particular are not known to handle such emotions well.)

But it doesn’t.

Going from searching for Q to hunting him should have increased their odds of picking up a trail. After all, nobody can disappear off the face of the earth without leaving any sign. And no one knows better than James Bond how Q thinks — except, perhaps, Alec Trevelyan.

The problem, of course, is that Q was one of the most talented hackers in the world at age twenty-two. So dangerous, in fact, that MI6 hadn’t even learned of his existence, until uroboros had deemed the risk of his name getting out worthwhile to avenge a fallen brother. Having spent the last six years sharpening his skills while working for MI6 has done nothing if not improved his abilities — and, quite possibly, broadened his horizon.

James breaks into Trevelyan’s flat first.

It’s a ridiculous notion. Trevelyan has been in deep cover in Nagoya for the past eight months. Even if Q _had_ passed along a message, why would he have left it in a place he knew Trevelyan wouldn’t reach before James? That doesn’t stop James from breaking down the door — subtlety is overrated — and searching every room.

He doesn’t find anything. James doesn’t know whether to be relieved or saddened by that.

His own flat and Q’s are similarly bare of cues — of course, Q’s home had already been searched when he first disappeared, so that’s not a surprise. Still. James goes over the entire building again, takes in every nook and cranny with new eyes. Looking for a hint, for any sign that he’s previously dismissed. For any proof he hasn’t bothered to payed attention to, before.

Because how could he have not seen this coming?

But no matter how deep he digs, how many pieces of furniture he takes apart, James is no closer to finding answers than he was at the start. Somehow that makes it worse.

*

 **The first time James considers killing Q** , they haven’t even been properly introduced yet.

There is no picture in the file, no full name, no identifying information of any kind. The only thing MI6 have is his handle, ‘uroboros’ and details on the three hacks he is credited for — and seven more that he’s suspected of. While uroboros’ identity, and indeed his gender, is uncertain at this point in time, his competence is not.

James’ mission is to find the hacker and neutralize the threat he poses to England. And while recruitment is certainly the preferred way to handle such talent, it’s hardly the only option on the table.

He goes with the former option because uroboros appears amendable enough. (Because James knows exactly how the shade of uroboros’ eye colour looks when robbed of all life. Their resemblance is uncanny.) Besides James figures he owes uroboros this much.

And, well. James doesn’t mean to stick around. Doesn’t mean to be amused by uroboros’ quiet wit and the remarkable calm with which he bears those first days in MI6 custody. Doesn’t mean to be intrigued by that lightening-quick mind and the fluency with which U’s hands move over a keyboard, ending lives with the same ease with which he saves them. Attachment is a risk his line of work doesn’t afford him — and Q is already too deep under his skin right from the start, by sheer virtue of the woman he is related to.

It’s not that James hasn’t expected the betrayal. Despite everything, he does learn from his mistakes, and Vesper Lynd was no more and no less than the worst of them. But for all that they share the same eyes, the same cheek bones, the same habit of tilting their head just slightly towards the left when deep in thought, Q is not Vesper. And while James keeps expecting to find a knife in his back one of these days, poison in his coffee, a bullet through the skull he doesn’t even see coming, he doesn’t expect Q to bypass all that and go straight for the heart. Straight for England.

He should have, of course. One way or another, Q has made it a bit of a habit to surpass everything Vesper has managed to achieve.

*

“Do you ever regret it?” Q asks him one night. They’re alone in his flat, Trevelyan wreaking havoc halfway across the globe.

Q’s voice is heavy with melancholy, the way it gets sometimes, during the bad nights. The night where he trembles between them so badly, it almost feels like they have to restrain him, hold him down, to keep him from shaking apart. Other times they find him sitting on a chair, staring straight straight ahead with unseeing eyes. Q almost never talks about those times, neither during nor afterwards.

“Regret what?” James asks, just as quietly. Unwilling to break the spell.

“Serving England.” It sounds so simple, the way Q says it. So light, when the question is anything but. “It’s just-” Q continues when he feels James tense in response, “-I see what it costs you. All of you. And I’m glad for your service, I try to appreciate your sacrifices as much as you deserve, but — it doesn’t seem like enough sometimes. And I just wonder. I guess. If it’s worth it.”

It’s been a very long time since James has asked himself that question the last time. Sometimes he forgets how young Q still is, how new to all of this. James’ arm instinctively tightens around Q’s shoulders.

“It’s not about what I give up,” James says after a long pause as he struggles to verbalize his thoughts. “The things I do, the choices I make… They are my life. The one I have, the one I chose. I like that. I like the thought of it being me instead of someone else.”

“Oh,” Q says softly and burrows himself closer against James’ side.

They’re quiet for a while. Just breathing and thinking, a rarity in their lives.

“Do you regret it?” James asks suddenly. He’s still staring straight ahead, not looking at Q. He’s not sure what he’d read in Q’s expression if he’d look and — that’s the thing about being a double-0, isn’t it, you don’t get to choose when you turn your awareness on and off again — maybe he doesn’t want to know.

Feeling Q’s shrug against his shoulder is enough. It has to be.

“Sometimes.” Q answers because he’s too honest for his own good. “It’s not that I regret joining MI6 per se. But I’m very aware of the fact that retirement will not be an option. If I had never come with you, never shown my hand-”

His voice trails off and James can hear Q picture it in the ensuing silence: A world of anonymity for however long he’ll manage to hold on to it, where no one will recognize his face, a world where he can disappear without England’s most bloodthirsty hounds hot on his heels, a world where he gets to choose his side, his lines, his rules anew every day. To a man like Q, who detests getting bored as much as James does, such a world will always, always hold a certain appeal MI6 cannot match.

James doesn’t blame him for it. By joining MI6, Q has lost something, has given up on certain things, whereas James was too young when he first chose this path, has never really known another way to be. Never known what he might be missing out on. So no, he doesn’t blame Q for such thoughts.

James takes it as a challenge to keep Q busy instead. M is not impressed with the resulting international scandal.

*

The thing is, whenever James has found himself plotting Q’s death, be it out of paranoia or habit, this isn’t how he pictured it. He’s always seen himself backed into a corner built by Q’s brilliant mind, fending off the attack he’s prepared himself for from the start. James has been betrayed by his lovers before, has killed them before, but he’s never been the first to turn.

This time it’s different. Rationally, James knows that Q has betrayed them. Has betrayed MI6, the closest thing to a home he has. Has betrayed everything they stand for — knowing that it would, inevitably, put him on the opposite site of the double-0s. But.

Q’s had endless opportunities to kill him. James has made sure of it. And even if he’d shied away from the direct approach, James had lost count of the number of missions Q had guided him through. Missions that would have been easy to manipulate, to ensure that James would not make it back. Q was certainly skilled enough to avoid casting any suspicions on himself.

He hadn’t though.

James has put his trust in Q time and again, and not once has Q let him down. Q is _his_ Quartermaster the way M is _his_ M, and it has nothing to do with the fact that they’ve slept together.

Knowing that Q had spent years undermining MI6 from the inside out— James doesn’t know what to do with that. Perhaps the worst part is that it is no complete surprise. Q has the mind, the skill and the patience to pull something of this magnitude off. Whether his understanding with James and Trevelyan had been a calculated move, a lucky coincidence or built on genuine affection — or possibly all three — wasn’t a question James would find an answer to by pouring over all the data Q-branch had collected on the Quartermaster’s activities over the years.

It doesn’t matter, of course. James might never know for sure. He’s gotten used to that, the senselessness of tragedy and pain. Or at least he likes to think he has.

The important question isn’t how Q accomplished all this so damn easily. It’s _why_. To what end? What was he looking for? And why now?

It’s that last question that has James still suddenly in the middle of reaching out for the framed photograph sitting innocently on the desk in Q’s living room. None of them are particularly sentimental, nor very fond of having their picture taken. But this one had been taken by one of Q’s favorite underlings on one of the rare days on which 006’s and 007’s downtime had overlapped and they had hung around Q-branch, scaring techs and annoying Q — and while Q had apparently stuck his minion with the Q-branch equivalent of toilet cleaning duty for the better part of a month in response, he’d kept the picture.

Why now? No one suspected Q. No one had even suspected a mole. Not until the Quartermaster’s disappearance. So why has Q suddenly pulled a vanishing act? When he could have only gained more — more access, more insights, more information — by staying longer?

Something changed. Q-branch is still attempting to retrace just how big the leak actually was. Given the amount of sensitive information the Quartermaster has had access to, it is hard to narrow down what, precisely, he’s been after. If James were to feature a guess, he’d say more than half the stolen data is nothing but a smokescreen. A flashy distraction, carefully picked to hide the ounce of gold within.

James narrows his eyes. The past three months have been nothing out of the ordinary on his end. Trevelyan is on a long-term mission, but given what little James knows about the details — which is still significantly more than he should — it is unlikely to be the trigger. There’d been tensions in Turkey and of course that mess 003 had made of Egypt during what should have been a stealth mission. Three of Q’s more important projects have been pushed through, the Smart Blood project being one of them. MI6 has been successfully hacked by a still unidentified hacker, and though nothing had been stolen then that doesn’t mean—

The Smart Blood project.

In one form or another, it’s been in the works for years. There are simply too many agents who cut their own trackers out when it suits them, too many bodies that aren’t recovered because a simple scan will show the damn things. But it was Q who had pushed who had taken the general idea of better, undetectable trackers and run wild with it.

There had been an incident during Q’s first months as the Quartermaster. James had been on a mission, has only gotten the official statements and a few cliff notes from Trevelyan. An operative in Brazil had been made and disappeared, her tracker going dark just minutes after she’d asked for extraction. Q had spent the better part of three weeks searching for her without success, before her body had finally been found, less than 24 hours after her death.

It hasn’t been the first — or the last — agent Q has lost. But James has dealt with some of the aftermath of that particular disaster of a mission, and if Trevelyan’s words are to be believed, the worst had already been over by the time James joined them. It is no stretch of the imagination to assume that it has been this incident that has spurred Q into advancing the Smart Blood concept.

James hadn’t cared at the time. Trackers are an inconvenience to be worked around when the mission calls for it, nothing more. His body belongs to MI6 and James has been part of the agency long enough to have lost any illusion of privacy that he doesn’t have. Q’s project could be an asset or a hindrance. Safe for pointing out a few causes for concern, James hasn’t involved himself into Q’s latest brainchild.

The same can’t be said about Alec Trevelyan. The idea of being ‘ _collared like a misbehaving dog_ ’, as 006 had put it during one of his heated arguments with Q, hadn’t set well with the man. It had been amusing to watch back then, the way Trevelyan had bristled and growled, a deadly wall of muscle and steel towering over the wiry form of their utterly unimpressed Quartermaster.

“ _006_ ,” Q had said in response, voice brisk and unamused. “ _I would not ask_ my _agents to give up something that I wouldn’t be willing to undergo myself. Now will you stop this ridiculousness and let me attend to our dinner, or would you prefer to burn_ this _kitchen down as well?_ ”

At the time, James had been struck by the unacknowledged understanding that although Q was a possessive bastard at the best of times, when he said ‘my agents’ it was James and Trevelyan the Quartermaster was referring to. The matter-of-fact declaration had settled something in James, anchored him in the moment in a way he rarely was. Perhaps the most astonishing thing was that Trevelyan had reacted similarly. Had _calmed_ instead of _bristled_ at the thought of being claimed in any way.

Now, though, the second part of Q’s announcement seems much more important. _That I wouldn’t be willing to undergo myself_ , Q said. The Smart Blood project has been cleared weeks ago — but. There would have been tests. Beforehand.

And James Bond suddenly has a very clear idea who one of those test subjects was.

*

James doesn’t call Trevelyan.

It’s not the fact that Trevelyan is currently in deep cover and James isn’t supposed to know where, never mind how to get in touch with him. No, they have ways to keep in touch, to pass messages along beyond even the ever-watching gaze of MI6. The reason James is much simpler. He knows exactly what Trevelyan’s response to the news will be.

Blow up Japan. Get home. Find Q.

Most double-0 agents get on fairly well, considering. They share an unspoken understanding. Of the burdens they carry, the choices they make, the price they pay. They are all aware that, should any of them ever turn, it would be one of the others who was sent after them. And though they understand each other, in most cases respect each other, the close connection between Trevelyan and James is somewhat unusual — and has caused M many a headache, no doubt.

Trevelyan is too good an operative to cut loose without provocation. That being said, James — and everyone with access to Trevelyan’s psych evaluations — knows damn well that the ties holding Trevelyan to MI6 are fragile at best. James trusts Trevelyan more than he trusts most people. He trusts Trevelyan with his life, with his gun, with his back turned towards him in a fight. But James doesn’t trust Trevelyan with England. Never has.

(Years ago, when James left the agency behind to start a new life with Vesper, he didn’t ask Trevelyan to follow him. And it wasn’t because he thought Trevelyan wouldn’t come. It was because James knew without the shadow of a doubt that once Trevelyan turned his back on MI6, he would never look back.)

It hasn’t been too long ago that James used to ask himself on every one of Trevelyan’s missions whether this one would be the last. Whether this would be the one Trevelyan wouldn’t come back from — either because he got tired of dodging bullets or because someone had finally made the right offer. Even back then James had known that he would be the one sent after him, should Trevelyan actually turn. To use their volatile connection to either turn him back or kill him.

Then Q happened.

James hadn’t expected to run into Trevelyan in the middle of his mission — it was rare for a double-0’s job to overlap with another’s without warning and usually meant that MI6 had missed something, a common theme where Q was concerned — and he certainly hadn’t expected Trevelyan to guard _his_ mission. Trevelyan hadn’t aimed his gun at him for even a moment, both of them too busy dealing with SHADE’s operatives to waste time threatening each other, but James was well-aware that they had come closer to the inevitable fight that night than ever before.

His instincts had been confirmed hours later, after they had successfully secured uroboros in MI6’s holding cells and been called into M’s office. Trevelyan had looked M straight in the eyes when he’d told her that she had three weeks before uroboros would be out of custody. It had not been a demand or a negotiation, it had been a fact. The only reason why M hadn’t forcibly retired Trevelyan that very day was because he had been so overt about it. Had drawn a line in the sand right in front of them, for all the world to see.

It had been a good move, James acknowledges. And M, who had too much use for an agent of Trevelyan’s calibre and a new anchor for him to come back to within easy reach, hadn’t called his bluff.

James still doesn’t know whether that was a mistake or not. All he knows is this: The moment Trevelyan learns of Q’s defection, he will be lost to them. And while M undoubtedly already has measures in place in case Q contacts 006 himself, there is no telling whether those will be enough to take Trevelyan out.

James hasn’t decided yet which outcome he is hoping for. But either way, he will waylay the inevitable for as long as possible — after all, that’s what he and Trevelyan have been doing from the very beginning.

*

“007.” M’s greeting is a call to attention. “Q-branch has managed to locate the Quartermaster’s missing laptop.”

James raises his eyebrows. That is...unexpected.

“How?”

There is a momentary silence as the head of MI6 collects her thoughts. Not a good sign, as James damn well knows. Not that there is anything good about this situation in the slightest.

“The laptop was connected to the internet two hours ago. The standard tracking program has been disabled, but the external tracker was automatically activated once the system failed to connect to an MI6-approved network,” M recounts.

Right. Of course Q’s laptop has multiple trackers, Q takes paranoia to a whole new level when it involves his tech. But then, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Q knows his own security system better than anyone. The likelihood of him activating a tracker accidentally is nonexistent.

“It’s possible that he lost the laptop, sold it or had it taken from him,” M continues.

“Or it could be a trap.” James names what they both know is the most likely option.

“Or it could be a trap.” M agrees without hesitation. “But we can’t take the risk. Even if the missing data isn’t on the laptop, there is no telling what other information it holds. We can’t allow the laptop to fall into the wrong hands — and at the moment, it’s the best lead we have. Do you understand?”

Not to forget, if it does turn out to be a trap, Q has most likely arranged it. Yes, James understood just fine.

“Bond!” M calls out uncharacteristically soft, just as he is about to reach the door. James stills but didn’t turn back around. “You have two days. We’ll be expecting you.”

In that simple statement, James hears everything he needs to know.

*

_“You know they have fifteen different contingencies in place in case this goes south, right?” Trevelyan asks him quietly._

_Q is still asleep, has been restlessly turning all night, and neither of them wishes to disturb whatever peace he may find whilst he can._

_“Only fifteen?” James shoots back. Doesn’t bother to coat the mockery in his tone._

_Trevelyan smirks, but his eyes are as sharp as the daggers he favors. Track every one of James’ movements, every twitching muscle, every expression. There’s a patience, a predator’s stillness in him, one so unlike Trevelyan it gives James pause._

_“What do you want me to say?” he asks eventually because ‘What do you want?’ is too broad_ — _too weighted_ — _a question to say out loud._

_Trevelyan’s handsome features twist and ripple, something ugly and breathtaking flashing over his face before his expressions settles once more._

_“Nothing.” Trevelyan says, and it’s as much of a confession as the gentle hand in Q’s untamed hair._

*

James receives a standard mission kit that is handed over to him by R, who takes great pain to cover her reluctance with false eagerness. All of Q-branch is aware that he is essentially being sent out to kill their — former — boss. The weight of their stares makes the back of James’ neck prickle.

Not everyone is happy with him right now, and it’s hard to tell if this is because of lingering feelings of loyalty, pity or because there are more traitors sitting in their midst. Either way, James is glad to have gotten just his usual Walter, a small radio capable of transmitting an emergency signal and plane tickets. The less chances of tampering, the better.

“I’ve checked the Smart Blood registry,” R tells him quietly on their way to the garage, wary of being overheard. “You were right, Q-” She fumbles for a moment, struggling with the title of a man who used to be her friend, a man who doesn’t have any other name that his title could be replaced with. “Q has taken one of the first prototypes. His signal has been deactivated of course-”

“Could you reactivate it?” James interrupts. He likes R well enough, but his patience is rapidly running out.

R sends him a reproaching glare but nods. “In theory. In practice, the currently active smart blood programm is a new and improved version of the first one and they’re not compatible, I guess you could say. I don’t know why — although I suppose we can all guess well enough _now_ — but all copies of the original program were deleted after the implementation of the new one.”

“So you’ve got nothing.” James wishes he would be surprised. But Q is a genius. Worth a shot, but it’s unlikely that he forgot about the nano trackers in his own blood, of all things.

“At the moment, pretty much, yes,” R says in a voice that clearly states she doesn’t appreciate James’ tone. She wouldn’t be the first. “We might be able to recreate it, but it will take a couple of weeks at least. There might be some copies on Q’s personal laptop still, but as we don’t have that either…” With a shrug, R trails off.

James narrows his eyes. R looks tired, and older than he remembers her being, but also determined to weather this storm.

“If I get you the laptop?” he half-asks.

“It might help.” R shrugs again. “I really can’t tell you more until I get an idea of how much data is still on it. Q’s always liked to play his cards close to his chest.”

Somehow James manages not to laugh.

 _And I guess now we all know why_ , isn’t said but echoes in the silence between them.

*

_“C’mon, it’s not like we’d tell anyone!” Trevelyan needles. “It’s just a name, how horrible could it possibly be?”_

_“Besides we can’t exactly call you ‘Q’ during sex now, can we?” James joins in._

_The unimpressed look Q levels at him is worth it. So is Trevelyan’s boisterous laugh._

_“Oh god, I hadn’t even thought of that!” he chokes out in between gasping for air._

_“That would be a first.”_

_“You’re both impossible!” Q rolls his eyes, only the unrestrained gestures of his hands belying his true agitation. “For the last time, my name is my own. I gave it up for a reason and I refuse to let the two of you drag it back into my life now because you can’t be bothered to mind your own bloody business! Now you can whine about it or adapt like the brilliant operatives you’re supposed to be.”_

_If one could harvest the poison from Q’s worth, it should be potent enough to knock them both out in under three minutes, James muses._

_“You know,” Trevelyan grins at Q, incorrigible as always, “all I hear is that you think we’re brilliant.”_

_It really shouldn’t have surprised either one of them that Q responds by throwing a cup at Trevelyan’s head._

*

“007!”

The voice is hushed, which really only manages to raise James’ hackles even more. He can’t trust MI6 right now, and he certainly doesn’t trust the tech support guy that’s approaching him with long, hasty steps.

It’s the cheeky one that dared to take a picture of Trevelyan, Q and James once, he remembers that much, even if he can’t recall the name. Jo, maybe. Also one of Q’s favorites.

James doesn’t draw his gun, but it’s a near thing.

“Yes?”

The techie visibly hesitates, then suddenly straightens with the determined air of a man on a mission. “Q was working on something, a few days before- well.” He’s twitchy, fingers nervously drumming against the soft fabric of his slacks. “It’s- he didn’t tell anyone what it did, said he was just playing around. But I don’t-”

Jo hesitates once more, then continues in a rush as though he wants to get the words out as quickly as possible. “I came in early on Monday and usually bring the Quartermaster his morning tea because he always (Wasser aufsetzen) and then forgets about it and he wasn’t there yet, obviously, but his office was a complete mess and Q _hates_ messes. I thought- I thought someone had broken into his office, that’s why I called security when he didn’t show up until nine, but that’s not the point. The point is, I think someone searched his office _before_ Q’d been declared missing and it was so stupid, but it had to be someone from our branch, right? And then R came in and the head of security and there were all these interviews and I didn’t know what to tell them and-”

“Alright, breathe!” James commands when Jo is starting to shake. “What are you trying to say?”

“Q left the prototype with me!” Jo blurts out, eyes wide and terrified. “I didn’t, I mean I didn’t think anything of it. My desk was closest to the workroom he’d used and he was in a hurry to get home and he asked me to just put it away, so I did. But now everyone’s going crazy over all the old programs he wrote and his inventions and- I checked, there’s no record of a recent prototype anywhere and _I don’t know what to do!_ ”

By the end of his rant, Jo’s voice had reached a hysterical pitch James is usually confronted with after one of his one-night-stands has been shot at and thrown out of a window. He is either a marvelous actor or genuinely clueless — James can’t decide which option is the most dangerous.

Sometimes he really hates his job.

“Do you have it? The prototype?”

Jo nods, pulls something out of his pocket. It’s small but heavy, a clump of metal with no clear shape or form that makes sense. James doesn’t know what he expected but at least this doesn’t look like it will get him killed. Then again, the things that come close to achieving that never do.

“Alright.” James pockets it. He has a flight to Austria — and really, it _has_ to be a trap, how high are the chances that Q’s laptop just happens to end up in the country he had first recovered uroboros’ from all those years ago? — to catch, this will have to wait.

Grabbing a hold of the trembling boffin’s shoulders James stares into Jo’s eyes. “You will not tell anyone about this, do you understand me?” he commands. With no threat because people like Jo know just enough about the double-0 program for their imagination to be much worse than whatever James could come up with.

“Y-Y-Yess,” Jo stutters, but James is already walking away.

He has a trap to spring.

*

“Bond’s flight is scheduled to land in Wien at 15:45, sir. Should we- ah, delay him?”

The man tilts his head thoughtfully, exchanges a glance with the man on the opposite site of the room. So many possibilities…

“No,” he decides after a moment with finality. “Let him come.”

*

This is what James Bond has known for a long time: Q neither loves nor despises England. Considers the country useful, familiar, _his_ , without any overly emotional attachment towards it that goes beyond logic and practicality. He is not like James who lives and dies for the British Crown. He is not like Trevelyan who would like to light a match and watch it burn.

Q is not a suspected traitor in the traditional sense. He does not have a reason to turn on them the way Trevelyan does. But neither does he have a reason to remain loyal, and that is perhaps even worse.

James has been in this position before, once upon a time. He’s been asked to choose, between his duty and his love, between England and Vesper. Vesper had asked him to give up the fight, and though it might not be fair, on some level James has been waiting for Q to do the same. He hasn’t known then what side he would pick this time. He still doesn’t. But at the very least, James thought he knew the question he was being asked.

_Would you choose me?_

The thing is, Q is not Vesper. Has never been Vesper. Never has this been more clear to James than right at this very moment, as M orders Q’s death through his hands. Never has it been more obvious that it’s not just the answer he’s missing. It’s the question as well. The one Q hasn’t asked. The one Trevelyan has already answered.

*

This is what James Bond is better off not knowing: Q enjoys working himself up the ranks at MI6. He likes the people he works with, the team he brings together and builds up the way he envisioned it. He has fun testing and inventing and playing. He revels in the challenge of hacking a system the old-fashioned way — the social way — and he finds more peace and comfort in his arrangement with Alec and James than he ever thought he would. Q likes his new life far more than he thought he would.

And so it might come as a surprise to someone who doesn’t think like Q — like Alec, like James — that Q feels more alive the day he throws it all away than he has since he first woke up alone in a bed many years ago, a bright post-it note stuck to his forehead.

*

There’s nothing special about the clump of metal Jo has handed him. Not at first glance, not at second glance, and not after an additional twenty minutes of careful study while James waits for the plane to reach its flight height.

It’s not that simple, of course. James would be a terrible spy if the ugly thing didn’t make him think of those Japanese puzzle boxes that Q was so fond of. Trevelyan had made it a habit of acquiring a new one — whether his mission happened to take him to Japan or not — while James had always prefered to bring Q something new that he wasn’t familiar with yet. He likes the challenge. Trevelyan likes to ditch his handlers.

James turns the little thing around in his hands. It is entirely possible that the whole thing was rigged to explode — but it seems unlikely. If Q wanted to bring the plane down, there were at least five more reliable ways to accomplish it.

 _Just playing around_ , Q had called it if Jo is to be believed — a judgement James is hesitant to make, for all that the young man appeared harmless enough. James can all-too easily picture it in his head.

Q doesn’t say those words like he means them, not ever. He says them with that little, all-knowing smirk that drives both Trevelyan and James crazy. He says it like a challenge, like an _I dare you_.

“ _You like playing dumb_ ,” Q has told him once, half asleep over his desk after the absolute nightmare that was the combination of Bolivia and 002. “ _I like watching you drop the act_.”

James gently slides his thumb along the rough edge. Pushes. He is slow, methodical in his exploration. Patient, the way he likes to pretend he isn’t. The way Q likes to force him to be. This, at least, is Q’s game. The rules are set by him, meant for James and he knows Q. Maybe it was meant to be a joke or indeed simply a new gadget. But the timing is suspicious and if there is any chance that Q wants to tell him something, any chance that there is more to this whole, sorry affair than the obvious — well. James has never hesitated to walk unarmed into the lion’s den.

There is a soft, clicking sound as the metal gives under James’ fingers. The inside of the oddly-shaped piece of metal is hollowed out and when James tilts it sideways, a ring and a crumpled piece of paper fall onto his open palm.

The ring is fairly unremarkable, a thick band of silver. The only thing of interest is the black octopus emblazoned in its front. James rolls it carefully between his fingers, even as most of his attention is focused on the short note, penned in Q’s unmistakable handwriting.

*

**_Die rote Sonne_ **

**_Saturday, 2030_ **

 

**_You aren’t afraid of ghosts, are you, 007?_ **

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it and hey, maybe one or two of you are even intrigued :) I'd love to read more of your thoughts and reactions in the comments, so if you have the time, please let me know what you think!  
> And of course, to all the weirdos who celebrate Christmas: Happy Holidays!!! And to all the weirdos who don't: Have a wonderful day!!!


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